CHINA V. THE CAUSE OF HUMANITY.
Meanwhile, Major Duff-Scott took charge of Elizabeth, and he was
very well satisfied with the arrangement that left her to his care.
He always preferred a mature woman to a young girl, as being a more
interesting and intelligent companion, and he admired her when on a
generous scale, as is the wont of small men. Elizabeth's frank face
and simple manners and majestic physical proportions struck him as an
admirable combination. "A fine woman," he called her, speaking of her
later to his wife: "reminds me of what you were when I married you,
my dear." And when he got to know her better he called her "a fine
creature"--which meant that he recognised other good qualities in her
besides that of a lofty stature.
As soon as Mrs. Duff-Scott stated her intention of going to see "what
she could pick up," the major waved his hand and begged that he might
be allowed to resign all his responsibilities on her behalf. "Buy what
you like, my dear, buy what you like," he said plaintively, "but don't
ask me to come and look on while you do it. Take Westmoreland--I'm sure
he would enjoy it immensely."
"Don't flatter yourselves that I shall ask either of you," retorted his
wife. "You would be rather in the way than otherwise. I've got Patty."
"Oh, she's got Patty!" he repeated, looking with gentle mournfulness at
the young lady in question, while his far-off eyes twinkled under his
hat brim. "I trust you are fond of china, Miss Patty."
"I am fond of _everything_," Patty fervently replied.
"Oh, that's right. You and Mrs. Duff-Scott will get on together
admirably, I foresee. Come, Miss King"--turning to Elizabeth--"let us
go and see what _we_ can discover in the way of desirable bric-à-brac.
We'll have a look at the Murano ware for you, my dear, if you
like"--again addressing his wife softly--"and come back and tell you
if there is anything particularly choice. I know they have a lovely
bonnet there, all made of the sweetest Venetian glass and trimmed with
blue velvet. But you could take the velvet off, you know, and trim it
with a mirror. Those wreaths of leaves and flowers, and beautiful pink
braids--"
"Oh, go along!" she interrupted impatiently. "Elizabeth, take care of
him, and don't let him buy anything, but see what is there and tell me.
I'm not going to put any of that modern stuff with my sixteenth century
cup and bottle," she added, looking at nobody in particular, with a
sudden brightening of her eyes; "but if there is anything pretty that
will do for my new cabinet in the morning room--or for the table--I
should like to have the first choice."
"Very well," assented her husband, meekly. "Come along, Miss King.
We'll promise not to buy anything." He and Elizabeth then set off on
their own account, and Elizabeth found herself led straight to the foot
of a staircase, where the little major offered his arm to assist her in
the ascent.
"But the Murano Court is not upstairs, is it?" she asked, hesitating.
"O no," he replied; "it is over there," giving a little backward nod.
"And are we not going to look at the glass?"
"Not at present," he said, softly. "That will keep. We'll look at it
by-and-bye. First, I am going to show you the pictures. You are fond of
pictures, are you not?"
"I am, indeed."
"Yes, I was certain of it. Come along, then, I can show you a few
tolerably good ones. Won't you take my arm?"
She took his arm, as he seemed to expect it, though it would have
been more reasonable if he had taken hers; and they marched upstairs,
slowly, in face of the crowd that was coming down.
"My wife," said the major, sententiously, "is one of the best women
that ever breathed."
"I am _sure_ she is," assented Elizabeth, with warmth.
"No," he said, "_you_ can't be sure; that is why I tell you. I have
known her a long time, and experience has proved it to me. She is one
of the best women that ever lived. But she has her faults. I think I
ought to warn you, Miss King, that she has her faults."
"I think you ought not," said Elizabeth, with instinctive propriety.
"Yes," he went on, "it is a point of honour. I owe it to you, as the
head of my house--the nominal head, you understand--the responsible
head--not to let you labour under any delusion respecting us. It
is best that you should know the truth at once. Mrs. Duff-Scott is
_energetic_. She is fearfully, I may say abnormally, energetic."
"I think," replied Elizabeth, with decision, "that that is one of the
finest qualities in the world."
"Ah, do you?" he rejoined sadly. "That is because you are young. I
used to think so, too, when I was young. But I don't now--experience
has taught me better. What I object to in my wife is that experience
doesn't teach her anything. She _won't_ learn. She persists in keeping
all her youthful illusions, in the most obstinate and unjustifiable
manner."
Here they reached the gallery and the pictures, but the major saw two
empty chairs, and, sitting down on one of them, bade his companion
rest herself on the other until she had recovered from the fatigue of
getting upstairs.
"There is no hurry," he said wearily; "we have plenty of time." And
then he looked at her with that twinkle in his eye, and said gently,
"Miss King, you are very musical, I hear. Is that a fact?"
"We are very, very fond of music," she said, smiling. "It is rather a
hobby with us, I think."
"A hobby! Ah, that's delightful. I'm so glad it is a hobby. You don't,
by happy chance, play the violin, do you?"
"No. We only know the piano."
"You all play the piano?--old masters, and that sort of thing?"
"Yes. My sister Patty plays best. Her touch and expression are
beautiful."
"Ah!" he exclaimed again, softly, as if with much inward satisfaction.
He was sitting languidly on his chair, nursing his knee, and gazing
through the balustrade of the gallery upon the crowd below. Elizabeth
was on the point of suggesting that they might now go and look at the
pictures, when he began upon a fresh topic.
"And about china, Miss King? Tell me, do you know anything about china?"
"I'm afraid not," said Elizabeth.
"You don't know the difference between Chelsea and Derby-Chelsea, for
instance?"
"No."
"Nor between old Majolica and modern?"
"No."
"Nor between a Limoges enamel of the sixteenth century--everything
_good_ belongs to the sixteenth century, you must remember--and what
they call Limoges now-a-days?"
"No."
"Ah, well, I think very few people do," said the major, resignedly.
"But, at any rate"--speaking in a tone of encouragement--"you _do_ know
Sèvres and Dresden when you see them?--you could tell one of _them_
from the other?"
"Really," Elizabeth replied, beginning to blush for her surpassing
ignorance, "I am very sorry to have to confess it, but I don't believe
I could."
The major softly unclasped his knees and leaned back in his chair, and
sighed.
"But I could learn," suggested Elizabeth.
"Ah, so you can," he responded, brightening. "You can learn, of course.
_Will_ you learn? You can't think what a favour it would be to me if
you would learn. Do promise me that you will."
"No, I will not promise. I should do it to please myself--and, of
course, because it is a thing that Mrs. Duff-Scott takes an interest
in," said Elizabeth.
"That is just what I mean. It is _because_ Mrs. Duff-Scott takes such
an interest in china that I want you to cultivate a taste for it.
You see it is this way," he proceeded argumentatively, again, still
clasping his knees, and looking up at her with a quaint smile from
under his hat brim. "I will be frank with you, Miss King--it is this
way. I want to induce you to enter into an alliance with me, offensive
and defensive, against that terrible energy which, as I said, is my
wife's alarming characteristic. For her own good, you understand--for
my comfort incidentally, but for her own good in the first place, I
want you to help me to keep her energy within bounds. As long as she
is happy with music and china we shall be all right, but if she goes
beyond things of that sort--well, I tremble for the consequences. They
would be fatal--fatal!"
"Where are you afraid she should go to?" asked Elizabeth.
"I am afraid she should go into _philanthropy_," the major solemnly
rejoined. "That is the bug-bear--the spectre--the haunting terror of
my life. I never see a seedy man in a black frock coat, nor an elderly
female in spectacles, about the house or speaking to my wife in the
street, that I don't shake in my shoes--literally shake in my shoes, I
do assure you. I can't think how it is that she has never taken up the
Cause of Humanity," he proceeded reflectively. "If we had not settled
down in Australia, she _must_ have done it--she could not have helped
herself. But even here she is beset with temptations. _I_ can see them
in every direction. I can't think how it is that she doesn't see them
too."
"No doubt she sees them," said Elizabeth.
"O no, she does not. The moment she sees them--the moment she casts
a serious eye upon them--that moment she will be a lost woman, and I
shall be a desperate man."
The major shuddered visibly, and Elizabeth laughed at his distress.
"Whenever it happens that Mrs. Duff-Scott goes into philanthropy," she
said, a little in joke and a great deal in earnest, "I shall certainly
be proud to accompany her, if she will have me." And, as she spoke,
there flashed into her mind some idea of the meaning of certain little
sentences that were breathed into her ear yesterday. The major talked
on as before, and she tried to attend to what he said, but she found
herself thinking less of him now than of her unknown friend--less
occupied with the substantial figures upon the stage of action around
her than with the delusive scene-painting in the background of her own
imagination. Beyond the crowd that flowed up and down the gallery, she
saw a dim panorama of other crowds--phantom crowds--that gradually
absorbed her attention. They were in the streets of Cologne, looking
up at those mighty walls and towers that had been six centuries
a-building, shouting and shaking hands with each other; and in the
midst of them _he_ was standing, grave and critical, observing their
excitement and finding it "pathetic"--nothing more. They were in
London streets in the early daylight--daylight at half-past three
in the morning! that was a strange thing to think of--a "gentle and
good-humoured" mob, yet full of tragic interest for the philosopher
watching its movements, listening to its talk, speculating upon its
potential value in the sum of humankind. It was the typical crowd that
he was in the habit of studying--not like the people who thronged
the Treasury steps this time yesterday. Surely it was the _Cause of
Humanity_ that had laid hold of _him_. That was the explanation of the
interest he took in some crowds, and of the delight that he found in
the uninterestingness of others. That was what he meant when he told
her she ought to read Thackeray's paper to help her to understand him.
Pondering over this thought, fitfully, amid the distractions of the
conversation, she raised her head and saw Eleanor coming towards her.
"There's Westmoreland and your sister," said the major. "And one of
those strangers who are swarming all about the place just now, and
crowding us out of our club. It's Yelverton. Kingscote Yelverton he
calls himself. He is rather a swell when he's at home, they tell me;
but Westmoreland has no business to foist his acquaintance on your
sister. He'll have my wife about him if he is not more careful than
that."
Elizabeth saw them approaching, and forgot all about the crowd under
Cologne Cathedral and the crowd that went to see the man hanged.
She remembered only the crowd of yesterday, and how that stately
gentleman--could it be possible?--had stood with her amid the crush and
clamour, holding her in his arms. For the first time she was able to
look at him fairly and see what he was like; and it seemed to her that
she had never seen a man of such a noble presence. His eyes were fixed
upon her as she raised hers to his face, regarding her steadily, but
with inscrutable gravity and absolute respect. The major rose to salute
him in response to Mr. Westmoreland's rather imperious demand. "My old
friend, whom I met in Paris," said Mr. Westmoreland; "come over to have
a look at us. Want you to know him, major. We must do our best to make
him enjoy himself, you know."
"Didn't I tell you?" whispered Eleanor, creeping round the back of her
sister's chair. "Didn't I tell you he would be here?"
And at the same moment Elizabeth heard some one murmur over her head,
"Miss King, allow me to introduce Mr. Yelverton--my friend, whom I knew
in Paris--"
And so he and she not only met again, but received Mrs. Grundy's
gracious permission to make each other's acquaintance.